


Tatooine Winds

by redrobinhood



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Other, Species Neutral Reader, The Mandalorian (TV) Season 2 Spoilers, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28162851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redrobinhood/pseuds/redrobinhood
Summary: You find yourself before Boba in the throne room with only one request at his lips- yours.
Relationships: Boba Fett/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 65





	Tatooine Winds

**Author's Note:**

> I saw y'all thirsting on Tumblr so drink up loves

"Come here." He gestures and you obey, gliding across the room as if you're in a dream. Maybe you are. When you reach the edge of the step you pause, but with another gesture from him you find the courage to take the step up and stand before the seated man. Boba Fett relaxes in the seat before you like an emperor on a throne. "Shall I remind you of the terms of our deal?"

You shake your head. "That won't be necessary."

His helmet moves up and down slowly in a nod before he settles deeper onto the seat, spreading his legs out to meet the armrests. "Then get to it."

You slowly lower yourself before him, the dark gaze of his helmet following you down. When you are fully on your knees, he reaches down to raise the skirts of the robe that drapes across his legs. A click reaches your ears and he pulls away a dark green codpiece, placing it on the armrest beside him.

You set your hands on the middle of his thighs to keep the fabric from falling back for a few moments, then remove one to push back the robes. You've barely brushed against the fabric when he catches your hand and sets it back on his thigh.

"No hands." He orders.

You nearly protest before you remember who it is you're kneeling before. Any illusion that he may give you of being in control is just that- an illusion.

Fett shifts his hips forward so that they are better in your reach and gives you another slow nod.

You duck under the small portion of robes that hides his inner thighs from you and close your eyes. The lights of Jabba's Palace are not bright enough to pierce the fabric, and you'd rather be willingly blind than stare into the darkness resting between Fett's thighs. Not that you need your vision anyways. Your face brushes against something warm and you readjust so that his flesh brushes against your lips instead.

You feel Fett stiffen under you as you follow the flesh back up to the tip, tracing your tongue across it until you reach the head and the taste of salt spreads across your mouth. Kneeling, with your eyes shut in the darkness, it's impossible to know which way is up and which is down as you follow the line of flesh down to where it meets his body with your lips, then back up again with your tongue.

When Fett begins to groan with frustration, you know this cannot last much longer.

The next time you reach his head, you reorient yourself and press your tongue to what you know now to be the bottom of his cock and take the tip into your mouth. The groan that falls from Fett's lips is almost tender, even through his helmet. You loosen your grip on his thighs, sliding your hands further down so that you can pull his hips into you. He doesn't stop you.

Once again feeling the illusion of control starting to take over, you draw back just far enough that his cock doesn't fall from your mouth before sliding back down onto it, fingertips grasping for a hold around the back of Fett's thighs as you let him sink into you.

He lets out another almost-tender moan, and you feel a light pressure on the top of your head that you know is his hand, gently stroking the crown of your head through the fabric of his robes.

Just as tenderly, you pull back again before sinking deeper in between his thighs, taking as much of him into your mouth as you can. With him buried in you, you let out a light hum and feel the gentle strokes across your head falter. The next time you go down, letting him sink deeper into your throat, you hum again and listen to his breathing flutter. When you find your forehead pressed against his stomach, Fett lets out the first moan that you could truly call tender and his fingers push against your head for a moment. Just a moment, then you are allowed to withdraw for a breath.

After that, the illusion of control is shattered. Every dive to his stomach there is a reminder, just for a moment but still a reminder, that you are being permitted control. Still, Fett's permission does not come easily. Nor do his moans. With your hands wrapped around the top his thighs, you are able to begin to set a fast and deep pace, hastened on by the softening moans coming from above you, unable to be muffled even by his helmet. Soon his hand is no longer pressing against your head, but most likely grasping the armrest of his throne as you wait upon him. The tension you can feel in his body certainly give that impression.

When he cries out, you slow down. Keeping your hands wrapped tightly around his thighs, you pull back until you are nearly where you began, with only the head of his cock in your mouth, gently rocking him through his orgasm. When the last dribble of cum has ended, you release your grip and pull back, falling down onto your calves. With his black helmeted gaze staring at you, you allow the cum trickling from your lips to fall a little longer before wiping it away.

You stare at each other in silence for a few moments before Fett leans forward and taps a loose fist against the bottom of your chin, tilting your head up. "Come back after dinner for a private tour of the palace."

And how could you say no to that?


End file.
